


A land of both shadow and substance (of things and ideas)

by coldflashwavebaby



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney Fusion, Curses, Ghosts, I want to do a whole story with this, Multi, Pretty much half of the people I've listed are dead, but I want to see what people think of this first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:36:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldflashwavebaby/pseuds/coldflashwavebaby
Summary: "Hollywood, 1937. Amidst the glitz and the glitter of a bustling young movie town at the height of its golden age, the Hollywood Tower Hotel was a star in its own right. A beacon for the show business elite. Now, something is about to happen that will change all that."





	1. The Hollywood Tower Hotel

**Author's Note:**

> The quote and summary are from the script of the Twilight Zone: Tower of Terror Ride at Walt Disney World's Hollywood Studios (this is based on the movie)

**THE HOLLYWOOD TOWER HOTEL**

**OCTOBER 31 ST, 1937**

            The big band music echoed through the entire hotel, adding a sense of festiveness to every room, especially the lobby. Bartholomew stood behind the check in desk with Francisco Ramon, Sr, the head bellhop of the hotel, and watched the paparazzi crowd the entryway.

            “Hey!” He signaled Oliver, hotel security, to come over. “Clear that door. We don’t want Ms. Lance to feel overwhelmed when she walks in.”

            Oliver nodded, signaling his men to push back the reporters. Bartholomew checked over his schedule again, making sure everything was as it needed to be for Sara Lance’s party at the Tip Top Club. He shivered when he felt eyes on him from across the lobby.

            Oliver glanced over to the far corner of the lobby and frowned. “He’s eyeballing you again.”

            Bartholomew sighed. “I know. I’m ignoring it.”

            “You can’t keep ignoring people like him, Bare.” Oliver warned. “He won’t stop until you make him.”

            “He’s too powerful.” Bartholomew reminded him. “Who am I going to tell? He hasn’t actually done anything except make me uncomfortable.”

            Oliver shook his head, but Bartholomew knew that he couldn’t argue it. “Just…just try not to let yourself be left alone with him, okay?”

            He nodded and turned back to the hotel’s books. “Yes, Oliver. Trust me, I won’t.”

            Suddenly, the reporters at the door got themselves in a tizzy. Camera’s flashed and questions were yelled, and Bartholomew knew that Sara Lance had arrived. “Go make sure Ms. Lance gets inside okay, and tell her I will meet her at the elevator and personally escort her to the Tip Top Club.”

            Oliver nodded, running off to obey the hotel manager’s orders.

            “Francisco, will you please go get Ms. Lance’s luggage?” The bellhop hurried off, and Barry was left alone at the desk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be a hectic night. He could feel it.

            “A lot on your mind, Scarlet?”

            The drawling voice startled him, and when Barry’s eyes snapped open, Leonard Snart was standing on the other side of the desk. Leonard Snart—dangerous mobster and leader of the Rogues. Everyone knew it, but there was never enough evidence to put him away. Bartholomew rolled his eyes.

            “I’m fine. The party upstairs and Ms. Lance’s appearance is a lot to keep in order.” He explained, closing the check-in book with a snap. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Snart?”

            Snart glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was watching them, before sliding his hand on top of Bartholomew’s. “I can think of a few things.”

            A blush crawled over Bartholomew’s cheeks as he yanked his hand off the table. “Mr. Snart, that’s inappropriate, and unless you have any hotel related business you need taken care of, I need to be at the elevator to greet Ms. Lance.”

            He gave the mobster a curt nod as he stepped away from the desk and headed for the main elevator. Oliver was waiting with a beautiful woman in a short, sparkly black dress, with a black feather stuck in her tied up blonde hair.

He recognized Sara Lance almost immediately—the youngest daughter of the wealthy Lance family. The party on the top floor was a benefit for getting crime off the streets—her father was police chief and her sister was district attorney, so Sara tended to donate her money to causes assisting in their work.  

            Bartholomew held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lance.”

            She took his hand. “Pleasure is mine, Mr….?”

            “Allen. I’m the manager.” Bartholomew explained. “I’ll be escorting you up to the club shortly. Our resident singer, Joseph West, and his daughter, Iris, will be accompanying us.”

            He expected some kind of complaint, but Ms. Lance smiled kindly. “Of course. I’m not too good to wait, Mr. Allen.”

            He smiled back, already liking the young socialite. “Bare!” He turned to see Joe and Iris West running for the elevator. “We aren’t late, are we?”

            Bartholomew shook his head. “Right on time, Joe. I’ll make introductions when we get up to the club. Right now, we need to get going.”

            He called the elevator, freezing when he felt eyes on him again. Joe noticed—Joe _always_ noticed. “Bare, are you okay?”

            Bartholomew glanced behind him, but he couldn’t see the offending eyes. He exhaled. “Yeah. Just a bit paranoid.” The elevator doors opened, and Barry motioned them all inside.

            The doors started to slide closed, when a hand jerked between them. Leonard Snart stepped smugly into the elevator, settling behind Bartholomew with a smirk. “Sorry, couldn’t wait for the next one.”

            From the other side of the elevator, Oliver sneered. “Snart.”

            “Queen.” Snart shot back. Bartholomew shook his head. This was going to be a long elevator ride.

            He turned the crank, and the elevator started inching upward. 2...3…4…5…

            “So…any plans when you get up to the club, Scarlet?” Snart asked, leaning a shoulder against the elevator wall. “Saving a dance for me?”

            “Leave him alone, Snart.” Joe growled.

            Snart crossed his arms. “Or what, West? What threats are you going to make that you haven’t already?”

            7…8…9…10…

            _Just two more floors._ Bartholomew told himself. But once the elevator hit the eleventh floor, it jerked to a stop. Ms. Lance fell against Iris. Joe fell to the floor. Oliver gripped the railing to keep from following. Bartholomew would have fallen, had it not been for Snart grabbing his waist to stop him.

            Usually, Bartholomew would brush Snart’s hands away, but he was in too much of a daze.

            “What’s going on?” Ms. Lance asked.

            “I don’t know.”

            Snart stepped up to the doors. “We should pry them open.”

            “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Oliver spoke up, “but I agree with Snart.”

            The two men moved to grab each side of the door when the elevator shook. Bartholomew white-knuckled the elevator rail.

            “What was that?” Iris swallowed hard. Her father pulled her into his arms, and Bartholomew suddenly knew, just like Joe, something was about to happen.

             A roll of thunder echoed outside. But it wasn’t raining before they got in. The skies were clear. Something was really wrong.

            Then, the lightning came. Bartholomew felt the electricity strike through the elevator, heard everyone inside scream in fright, but there was no pain.

            Nothing hurt anymore.

           


	2. Kara and CatCo

**EIGHTY YEARS LATER…**

“I cannot believe that…that… _man!”_ Kara threw the rejection letter she’d just received for an internship in CatCo’s journalism department on her counter.

            James snickered from his spot beside Winn on the couch. “That’s telling him.”

            “I’m serious!” She exclaimed, stomping over to throw herself in the plush chair across from them.

            All Kara ever wanted was to be a reporter for CatCo, ever since she picked up her first copy of the magazine as a wide-eyed twelve-year-old with no idea what to do with all of her excitement. She’d worked hard, put herself through college, graduated in the top percentage of her class. Every professor she had told her how far she would go in the industry. Now, Snapper Carr’s words were spitting all of those praises back in her face.

            She snatched a box of Chinese off the table and dug in. “What does he mean that my stories’ have no intrigue’? That I don’t ‘talk about things people care about’? All of the samples I sent in were hard-hitting, investigative pieces. You both thought so, right?”

            Winn and James both froze—the latter halfway reaching for a dumpling, the former scooping a forkful of rice in his mouth. They shared a look.

            “Totally.”

            “Absolutely. I couldn’t put them down.”

            Oh my god, they were terrible liars. Kara groaned. “How am I supposed to be this great reporter if no one likes the stories I write?”

            Winn pursed his lips sympathetically. “Look, Kara, you’re a great writer and a great reporter. What you need is a topic that everyone is interested in.”

            “Yeah,” James agreed. “Something that catches people’s attention. A hard-hitting investigation that even Snapper Carr can’t turn down.”

            Kara nodded in agreement, but still felt doubtful. “How am I supposed to come up with something like that? Every big mystery is being covered by thousands of reporters.”

            Winn fell back against the couch, defeated, but a knowing gleam lit up behind James’ eyes. “What about a cold case? A famous cold case everyone else has given up on, that _you_ could be the one to solve.”

            Kara perked up. “What cold case?”

0000000

            The Hollywood Tower Hotel was an icon. It loomed like a dark shadow, a grand spire on the edge of town, holding a mystery the world was eager to solve.

            The disappearance of Sara Lance.

            Every child in L.A grew up hearing the story—on Halloween 1937, Sara Lance got in an elevator to go up to the top floor of the hotel with five other passengers. Between the first floor and eleventh floor, something went wrong. Everyone onboard disappeared without a trace, and, even now, no one knew what really happened to them. Their bodies were never found, and the story became one of the greatest unsolved cold cases in history.

            Kara turned to James, who was snapping pictures of the wrought iron gate, chained and locked together. “Are you sure about this?” She asked. “I mean, if no one has solved this in eighty years, what makes us think that _I’ll_ be able to?”

            “Well,” James grinned, “you are better than those people. And you’re determined to prove yourself. Plus…” He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. “We have the keys to the gate and permission to snoop around.”

            Kara’s jaw dropped as he opened the lock on the gate. “How on Earth did you manage that?”

            James shrugged. “Well, you know how I had that internship with the Daily Planet last summer? Well, while I was there, I had to do a story on a businessman named Harrison Wells. Turns out, he owns the hotel. So, I made a phone call, told him about you, and he agreed to let us in to explore, as long as we keep him in the loop about what we find.”

            Not for the first time, Kara found herself staring at James in awe as he opened the gate, arm held out for her to go in first. “The caretaker of the estate is a ‘Cisco Ramon’. Apparently, his great-grandfather used to work at the hotel, and the owner’s family kept them around. He lives over there,” James pointed to a small house on the other side of the wall surrounding the hotel, “but he refuses to come inside.”

            Kara paused, halfway stepping onto the grounds. “Why not?”

            A teasing smile pulled at James’ lips. “Because it’s _haunted._ Woooo!” He twiddled his fingers at her, and Kara laughed.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in ghosts, but she didn’t think the Hollywood Tower Hotel was haunted. After all, the people didn’t die there; they disappeared. There were no bodies found, thus no death, thus no ghosts.

The hotel grounds were beautiful.

Overrun with vines and plants? Sure.

A little old? Of course.

But Kara could picture the glitz and glamour that had surrounded the hotel in its heyday. She could see the appeal.

They climbed the grand stairs and pushed the dusty doors open. Or, they should have been dusty. Oddly enough, only the windows were really dusty, enough to where Kara couldn’t see inside. Using his elbow against the doorframe, James held the door open for Kara.

It was…grand. Old and dirty, sure, but grand all the same. From the statue of the flying bird on the table in the middle of the lobby to the elegant high ceilings. The furniture was still original, layered with dust and worn with time, but still in great condition. With a bit of cleaning, Kara could’ve believed she’d stepped back in time eighty years.

            The lobby lit up with flashes as James took pictures, but Kara was transfixed. It was like she could hear the big band music echoing through the building, the chattering of the guests rushing around the lobby, the laughter and sounds of life that had passed through the building for so many years.

            “Kara?”

            She snapped out of her spell. James was staring at her, his eyes furrowed with amusement and worry. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” she swallowed hard. For a moment, it was like she _was_ in 1937, like she was standing in the lobby the night of that party, watching. “I…I’m fine. This is amazing, James. I think we really might be able to do something here.”

            A joyful smile appeared on her friend’s lips. “You really think so?”

            She nodded excitedly, her feet carrying her over to the front desk, where the check-in book was still laid out and open, waiting for guests to sign their names. She ran her fingers down the dusty pages, and, suddenly, every rushed around her.

            The lobby was new. There was no dust, no decay. Just a regular, glamourous hotel, full of people. She glanced back at the door, where a squad of paps was waiting.

            “Hey!” She waved at a handsome, broad man lingering around the room. “Clear the door. We don’t want Ms. Lance to feel overwhelmed when she walks in.”

            The man gave her a grin, like they were old friends, and motioned to some other suits hanging around the edge of the lobby to push back the crowd at the door. The man approached her, his hands clasped behind his back.

            “He’s eyeballing you again.”

            A shiver crawled up her spine. She could feel eyes—dark, sinister eyes—on her, like someone was watching she didn’t want. She felt like she was in danger, like accompanying those eyes was a cold hand that would drag her in the darkness.

            She pulled away from the desk with a sharp inhale, drawing James’ attention. The lobby was old again. There was no man, and the only person with her was one of her dearest friends.

            “Are you completely positive you’re okay, Kara?” James asked, probably ready to drag her out if she even hesitated saying yes.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure. “I…I think I am?” she whispered. “That was…weird.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No!” she replied sharply. “It’s like…this story is speaking to me. We should look around some more.” Without waiting for James’ approval, she stepped away from the front desk and made her way towards the elevator in the lobby.

She closed her eyes, and the lobby was back to bustling. A man dressed in a fine suit and a young woman in a black dress were running up to her, the man she’d seen before and another woman—this one blonde and obviously wealthy—waiting with her. 

“We aren’t late, are we?” The man asked, and, for some reason, Kara felt happy to see him.

“Right on time, Joe,” she replied happily. “I’ll make introductions when we get up to the club. Right now, we need to get going.”

The dark feeling washed over her again, like something devious was watching her. This time, she looked around trying to find the eyes, but she couldn’t see anyone watching her.

She snapped out of it again, but the feeling of being watched didn’t go away. It wasn’t as ominous as her vision—if anything, this felt curious and cautious instead of threatening and sinister—but she gave the room another look, trying to find the eyes.

There was nothing, though.

She did catch James frowning at her, but she gave him a reassuring grin and kept moving. There was no need to freak him out when it was probably just the effect of being in a creepy, old building. James pulled out a flashlight as they headed down into the lower levels, where they passed a service elevator and a blocked off room that read ‘STAFF ONLY’.

“What are our next steps?” James asked as they headed back up the stairs.

“Research,” Kara answered confidently. “We know that Sara Lance disappeared with five other people. We find out everything we can about the rest of the victims, see if we can find some kind of clue in their histories. Then, we can figure out what really happened.”

James nodded in agreement. “I can get us a meeting with Dr. Wells, see if he knows anything about what may have happened, and we can come back in here in a few days and do some digging into the leftover belongings left lying around here.”

He kicked a suitcase that was sitting by the door leading back into the lobby. After Sara Lance’s disappearance, the hotel was closed down in such a rush, most people didn’t even have time to collect their luggage. The victims’ luggage was probably still at the hotel, too.

As they walked towards the front door, something on one of the tables caught her eye. Every flower in the building was dried up and dead from eighty years of no sunlight or water, but lying there on the table, practically glowing, was a single, yellow rose, fresh and bright, like it’d just been picked.

Kara gently picked it up, wondering who would’ve left it behind.

James, on the other hand, stared at it strangely. “Where did that come from? That wasn’t there earlier.”

The friendly eyes were back, and Kara suddenly knew that they had left the rose for her. She grinned. “I’m not sure. Maybe we just missed it on the way in.”

            She passed him to walk out, feeling a bit creeped out, but mostly excited by their visit. She started planning her article in her head as she and James hurried out the front, neither noticing the handprint in the dust on the window.


End file.
